Pure Paradise (13 page)

Sumi was trippin’. What the hell was going on with her? Did she miss that big-titty Lily so much, she was willing to pick a fight and deliberately get her name added to Milan’s shit list?

M
ilan gave a sigh of relief after Sumi left. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Why did she always have to come up with the solutions? What the hell did she pay Sumi for when she always had to end up putting out all the fires? No one cared about Pure Paradise as much as Milan did.

There was no one to share her burdens with at the end of a long day. She shook her head sadly. It had always been Milan against the world and she supposed that was the way it would always be.

Gripping her forehead in despair, she cut an eye at the time. Eleven in the morning and already her energy was dwindling fast. Mentally exhausted, she needed a quick pick-me-up.
Royce
?

Hell, no!
She needed something else. Her pussy could definitely use some action, but in her current state of fatigue, what she really needed most was an emotional healing. She yearned for someone to console her, reassure her that everything would be all right. She hated to admit it, but it was her heart and not her pussy that needed emergency treatment.

She checked the time again. A few minutes after eleven. Where was he? The gym? No, he worked out early in the morning.
She pondered a few moments. Most likely, he was at the Sports Medicine Center. Hilton was delusional, still holding on to the hope that his bum knee would heal and someday he would resume his football career. Milan didn’t know jack shit about the rules of football but common sense told her that it wasn’t likely that a twenty-nine-year-old former player, who had experienced such a major, career-stopping injury, would ever again hear the roar of the crowd as he charged across a football field.

And that was a good thing. Milan didn’t want Hilton traipsing around the country. She wanted him in the Philadelphia area and under her thumb. She wanted him to remain on call, a devoted chauffeur.
Devoted? Yeah, right
. Hilton was about as devoted to her as she was to Maxwell. But every now and then, she sensed that beneath their casual, no-strings-attached sexual relationship lay deep feelings—an emotional bond between them. She smiled wistfully, then chastised herself.
Keep dreaming!

She called his number. Feeling awkward and vulnerable, she listened to his cell ring, her pulse pounding erratically in a combination of anticipation and anxiety. When the call was picked up by his voicemail, Milan breathed a sigh of relief. Under the circumstances—dealing with such a severe case of the jitters—she preferred to talk to a machine.

“Hi. Um…Hi, uh, this is Milan. It’s Milan,” she said again, stammering. She could have kicked herself for sounding like such a tongue-tied jerk. “Give me a call, when you get a minute.”
Much better
. Now her words were coming out clear and concise. “This isn’t a business call. If you aren’t busy tonight, I’d like to take you out to dinner.” She paused and nervously cleared her throat. The sound was deafening, a blaring indication of awkwardness.
I’m definitely not on top of my game
, she silently berated herself.
Shit!

“Give me a call when you get a chance. I’m at work.” She ended the call.
Duh! As if he doesn’t know where I am
. “He dropped you off, stupid,” she said out loud. God, she hated it when her old insecure, graceless persona resurfaced. She should have practiced what she was going to say to him before she picked up the phone. Humiliated, she slumped over, buried her face in her hands.
Damn, damn, damn
!

A few moments later, she jerked up, removed her hands, and peeked at the time again. Five minutes had elapsed. She wondered impatiently how long it would take for Hilton to return her call. Indignant, and refusing to wait around for Hilton the way she used to wait for Gerard to call, she decided to redirect her attention.
To what
?

Her mouth curled into a wicked smile as she picked up the remote and pointed it toward the overhead monitor. The click of a button produced an image of the spanking room. Apparently, Sumi had been persuasive because there was Ms. Warminster on the screen, looking tense as she removed her pearls and then her totally dignified attire.

BodySlam’s island lilt seeped from the speakers. “Hurry! My time is valuable. There are many others craving my chocolate.”

Hmm. Milan switched the angle of the camera and panned in on BodySlam, who was lounging on his throne. Instead of sitting up straight in his customary proud and aristocratic manner, he was kicked back in a relaxed and irritatingly arrogant position. His muscular legs were gaped and outstretched; his long dark cock jutting outward and dripping with chocolate syrup. Leeringly, he gazed at Ms. Warminster. “Come quickly, while the chocolate is still warm.”

Naked, Ms. Warminster took a few faltering steps. The old bat had the nerve to have a nicely toned body, Milan noted grudgingly.

“No, that won’t do,” BodySlam said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “I am your master. You must crawl to me.”

Obediently, Ms. Warminster lowered herself to the floor.

“Not so fast.”

Ms. Warminster rose quickly.

“When I give you an order, I expect you to say, ‘Yes, Master.’”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered, her face bright red and stinging with shame.

Triumph lit BodySlam’s eyes. “Now, get back down on your knees and crawl to me quickly.”

“Yes, Master.”

Ms. Warminster dropped to the floor and crawled across the room speedily. Within seconds, BodySlam was guiding her head toward his big chocolate cock, urging her to suck. Tentatively, she licked, catching chocolate drops before they fell to the floor, and, in no time, the aging socialite was slurping chocolate off BodySlam’s big dick, making greedy sucking sounds that loudly proclaimed that her chocolate craving was being satisfied.

Totally fascinated with BodySlam’s capacity to so quickly turn an incorrigible snob into a docile slave, Milan folded her arms and studied the depraved activity. A true master was at work and she needed to be taking notes.

Then she got angry. Sure, the man had skills worth watching, but she’d laid out guidelines, a specific script that she expected to be followed. She rolled her eyes. Sumi’s obstinate refusal to do as she was told was working Milan’s nerves. Perhaps a two- or three-day suspension was in order. While mulling it over, the buzzer on her desk console interrupted her thoughts. She jerked her head toward the annoyance, then yanked the phone out of the cradle, ready to spew venom at her secretary.
Between Sumi’s intrusive visits and her dingbat secretary bothering her with nonsense that she should be able to figure out for herself, Milan would never get any work done. “What is it?” she bellowed.

“Your driver is on the line, Ms. Walden.”

“Oh!” Milan said, her voice lowered. Unconsciously, she began smoothing her hair into place. “Put him through.”

“Right away, Ms. Walden,” the secretary replied.

“Wait!” Milan needed time to get herself together.

“’Sup, Ms. Walden,” Hilton crooned in his silky voice.

Too late!
“Hi,” she replied breathily. Too breathily. Anxiety caused the corner of her mouth to twitch.
Aw, shit!
She knew he was quietly waiting for her to expound on the message she’d left, but how the hell was she supposed to communicate with her lips quivering and teeth clenched tight to prevent them from chattering?

“You mentioned something about dinner?” he asked, mercifully filling the silence.

“Yes, I wanted to thank you for helping me recapture Maxwell.” She laughed and the sound was convincingly playful. Flirty, yet indifferent.
Whew!
She had her swagger back!

“Oh!” There was disappointment in his tone. “Nah, I’m straight. Look, you don’t owe me dinner for that. All I did was drive. Besides, I doubt that I’d enjoy celebrating another man’s captivity, you know what I mean?” He chuckled.

Milan was speechless. She’d gone out on a ledge. She’d swallowed her pride and invited this unappreciative bastard out to dinner. And based on some antiquated, old-boy, macho bullshit, Hilton had rudely turned her down.

“How about a drink?” she cajoled.

“Do you miss me?” he said, cutting to the chase.

Yes!
“A little bit—I guess.”

“I appreciate the offer, but we both know you’re not the wine and dine type. How about we just cut through the bullshit. I’ll stop over tonight and tighten that thing up. That’s what you really want, right?” There was amusement in his tone.

Though deeply offended, she laughed on cue as if his perception of her needs was right on target. Her laughter, shrill and false, was as close as she could come to actually screaming and crying. “You are absolutely right! Wine and dine?
Moi
? Never! I’ll see you tonight, and make sure you drink a protein shake because you’re going to need it.” She laughed again, trying to save face by resorting to her typical sassiness.

“Oh, I got something for you and I don’t need a protein shake, Red Bull, or any stimulants. I’m
au natural
; you should know that about me.”

And she did. Unfortunately, she knew a lot about him. She knew that in his eyes she was nothing more than a piece of ass to be tapped when he had time to fit her in. And no matter how hard she’d tried to turn the tables, she could not get Hilton to play by her rules.

“I’ll pick you up at the salon at five. After I make a few runs, I’ll swing by your spot around nine. You all right with that?”

“Sounds perfect,” she chirped, attempting to hide her bruised feelings when she felt like shouting, “No, I’m not all right with it!” Milan had hoped that tonight she’d be able to draw out his true emotions and reveal hers, but it looked like they’d continue to hide behind sex.

Her stomach tightened into a knot. Rejection hurt. Hilton thought of her as a money-grubbing, heartless, insatiable slut,
someone to fuck when it was convenient for him. The thought depressed her, sapping her anger and self-righteous indignation and leaving her worn out and resigned. How foolish of her to think that the smoke and mirrors of a romantic dinner with candlelight would alter his perception of her. She’d acquired his chauffeuring services by bullying Maxwell, so Hilton knew firsthand how greedy and ruthless she could be.

N
ine o’clock sharp, Milan was dressed casually in a pair of skinny jeans and a stretchy gold cowlneck sweater. She’d chosen to forgo her pricey jewelry and high-fashion couture in an attempt to score points with the former jock by appearing more down to earth and more attainable. Though she appeared laid back and relaxed, she’d actually spent an enormous amount of time achieving the unfussy look. Her barely there makeup took almost an hour to apply and she’d arranged her hair in an upswept ’do that required forty-five minutes of concentration as she created an off-center part, gathered her hair tightly into place, and then strategically released strands of hair, allowing the tresses to dangle, successfully pulling off the impression of whimsical “undoneness that was both capricious and exceedingly sexy.

It had taken a lot of hard work. The next time she wanted to enchant Hilton with a carefree, girl-next-door persona, she’d make sure to use the services of a group of stylists and a makeup artist.

Hilton liked beer, and for his pleasure she had a dozen bottles of Heineken chilling inside the fridge. Milan preferred wine and though her collection was worth a fortune, she’d never
acquired a taste for the dry, bitter, expensive stuff that she kept on hand merely for show. Sipping a modestly priced fruity wine, she was working on her second glass when the doorbell rang.

Showtime!

She opened the door. He was wearing workout wear—baggy sweats and sneakers—but he was still looking as hot as ever.

“Hi, sexy and handsome,” she greeted, feeling overly amorous and a bit playful. No doubt her animated teasing was a result of the effects of the wine.

Smiling appreciatively, Hilton’s eyes traveled from her new ’do down to her bare feet and then his gaze lifted and rested on her face. “Hey there, cutie,” he said, returning the compliment. “You’re looking rather sporty.”

He raised a flirty brow, which she found both endearing and sexy. Hell, everything about Hilton was sexy, from his silky brows to his hard-muscled ass, which she would have cupped in a hot second if she was behaving in her typically brazen style. But tonight she was trying a new tactic, subtly introducing Hilton to her sensitive side.

But he wasn’t playing fair. Being called “cutie” was a curve ball; it wasn’t the type of compliment she was accustomed to hearing. She blushed, showing vulnerability. Not good. Men took advantage of needy women. Cutie! Okay, she had to get herself together and regroup because cutie she was definitely not! Cutie was synonymous with adorable and petite and Milan had grown up being told she too tall, too gangly, and unattractive, with horribly big feet. In her adult life, she’d worked hard on being stylish and glamorous. When she heard people refer to her as beautiful, she smiled, proud that she’d managed to pull the wool over their eyes. Her so-called beauty was a façade.

Hilton was slick. He had to know that giving her such an unexpected compliment would throw her off balance.
Not fair!
She’d planned on controlling the tone of the evening and he’d hit her with a curve ball that was akin to surprising her with a bouquet of demure daffodils or tulips or some other romantic gesture.

Frazzled, Milan took another swig from the delicate crystal glass.

“Would you like a beer?”

“Sure,” he replied.

“Follow me,” she said, inviting him to join her in her kitchen, one of the many rooms in her lavish home that they rarely spent time in together. Hell, she alone rarely spent time in her kitchen. It was a breathtaking and opulent showplace with recessed overhead lighting that displayed shiny chrome fixtures, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a custom-built island that resembled modern art. Milan’s kitchen was stocked with every gadget imaginable but it was a room designed to be admired, not made messy with cooking and dining.

Her bedroom had always been the focal point of their no-strings-attached affair.

Hilton, enjoying the change of scenery, made himself comfortable on a leather stool. She could feel his eyes perusing her from behind as she opened the fridge, bent down, and grabbed a beer.

She handed him the bottle.

“Thanks.” He flashed an appreciative smile that made her want to kiss him, but she restrained herself and tapped her crystal wineglass against the bottle he gripped.

“To us,” she blurted, unintentionally divulging her desire for a more meaningful connection between them.

Hilton cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, uh, here’s to lots more good times together.”

He laughed, but the sound was strained. She was instantly embarrassed and told herself to sip slowly. The wine was obviously going to her head and making her say things that she’d later regret.

Collecting herself, Milan joined him and sat on the stool next to him. “How was your day?” she asked, making uncharacteristic chit-chat as she nervously twirled a tendril of hair between her fingers.

“Not bad,” he said, looking perplexed at her show of interest.

“Tell me about it,” she ventured, knowing full well that she was throwing him off with her sudden penchant for small talk.

“Tell you about what? What are you getting at?” Annoyance lined the area between his silky brows.

“I had a rough day and was hoping yours went better than mine,” she said, her eyes wide with innocence.

Hilton relaxed visibly. “My day went pretty good. In fact, it couldn’t have been better.” He bestowed her with a gleaming smile, prompting her to want to cease with the chatter and march him upstairs to her boudoir. “My knee is almost as good as new,” he went on. “A couple more months of therapy and who knows…I might be back in the game.” His dark eyes sparkled with hope, melting her heart.

She set down the wineglass and squeezed his arm, a gesture meant to convey encouragement.

“That’s good news,” she said, nodding and reassuringly tightening her grip.

“I bumped into the Eagles coach at the Sports Center today. We’ve never been friendly, you know. When I was playing for
the NFL, no one could catch me and a game against the Eagles was like child’s play for me. I’ve made some of his players look like straight wimps and then gloated whenever I scored against them.” Hilton looked off in thought. “That’s strange,” he said in a whisper.

“What?”

The coach asked about my knee and after I told him it was healing nicely, he said exactly what you just said, ‘That’s good news, Hilton.” Hilton beamed. “It must be an omen, baby. I can feel it.”

Baby!
No one had ever called her that. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever get back in the game, but she sure liked the way he called her baby. A second later, Hilton pulled Milan in his arms, hugging her tight, as if thankful that she believed in his dream.

She didn’t actually believe that a player could make a comeback after a two-year absence, but she could pretend, if that’s what it took to get inside his arms. And hopefully in his heart.

“I love the way you smell,” he said, sniffing her neck. “That fragrance you wear is uniquely you. I don’t think I’ve ever smelled it on anyone else.”

She buried her face in his chest, hiding her flattered smile. Then she recovered and slipped from his embrace and eased her hands beneath his sweatshirt, brushed the hair on his chest, and delighted at the feel of his stiffening nipples. He jerked against her touch. Emboldened by his response, her hand drifted downward, and questing fingers reaching and stretching. She located the prize, at first cupping the swell of his manhood and then giving it a firm squeeze. The throbbing of his hardening heat sent a tremor that shook his body, inciting both him and Milan to greater heights of desire.

“Milan,” he whispered her name and held her face between his palms, staring at her questioningly, but seeming too entranced to speak.

Milan, desperately needing the hardened steel of his arousal, quickly undid her jeans. The sound of unsnapping metal seemed to jolt Hilton out of his spell. In an instant, he began assisting, tugging and pulling down her skin-tight jeans.

He led her over to the granite island, the closest available space. He hoisted her up and then gently laid her down. Standing over her, he took in the mocha-colored perfection of her long slender body. Bending down, he kissed her lips. His skilled fingers quickly unclasped the front of her bra. He dipped his head and licked her bared nipples and then hungrily took in mouthfuls of her small oval mounds.

She sucked in a deep breath. Was she drunk from lust or was it the wine that had her head spinning? At any rate, the room seemed to rotate, and Milan had to grasp the sides of the island to steady herself. Hilton’s strong hands kneaded her thighs, his thumbs pressing deeply as they worked upward to the soft texture of her thong. Pulling the elastic, he slid the fabric to the side, exposing her most intimate body part, the part of her that needed him most. She shuddered as the cool air chilled her womanhood. Instantly, he warmed her slick passageway with the heat of his tongue. Trembling, Milan released a long sigh of delight. She dug her fingernails into his deltoids and drew up her legs, knocking over salt and pepper shakers as she kicked out. With her knees widely spread, she urged him to probe deeper.

He lathed her soft flesh with his tongue, moaning in enjoyment at the tart taste of her womanhood. Heat swept over her
skin and concentrated on her distended clit. He sought and captured her straining bud between his lips, tugging and pulling at the sensitive knot of nerve endings until she cried out, pleading for him to stop.

He repositioned Milan, turning her body horizontally, pulling her forward until her long limbs dangled off the sides of the granite and her pussy faced him. Milan lifted up halfway, talking a long lustful look at the brawny dick he pulled out of the slit of his sweatpants. The tip of the huge knob glistened with pre-cum. She would have gladly placed it close to her lips and licked it clean if it weren’t already being fitted against her silken opening, making her vibrate with wanton need.

Surrendering, she eased down on the cool granite. Standing, Hilton pushed himself inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he explored her tunnel with deep, driving thrusts. Groins locked, their bodies writhed together in a primitive dance, she felt a fever burning inside her, quickly convulsing a chain of spasms. Biting down on his lip, Hilton fought to hold back, but persuaded by her rapid cunt-clenches, Hilton let go, flooding her with his white-hot explosion.

Later, in bed, her head resting upon his chest, he tenderly stroked her hair, which was unpinned and had come completely undone. She reached up and caressed his stroking hand until their fingers affectionately entwined.

His pattern of breathing changed, telling her that he had lapsed into a sound sleep. Milan propped up on an elbow and stared down at his beautiful face, marveling at his dark lashes
that were even longer than she’d realized. Unable to resist, she brushed his heavy lashes with her fingertip. His lashes fluttered, but his eyes remained closed in sleep. She studied his sleeping face a little longer and then touched his cheek.

“Guess what, Hilton Dorsey?” She paused. “I think I’m in love with you,” she whispered, knowing he was somewhere in dreamland, unable to hear her confession. She gave him a quick kiss and then snuggled close, draping an arm across his waist and molding herself into him. Then she contentedly drifted off to sleep.

He lifted her hand, pressed his lips against her long finger, before placing her open palm next to his beating heart and whispering, “I love you, too.”

Milan awakened with a start as if the soft-spoken words had been shouted and echoed inside the bedroom. Was she in the midst of a sweet dream? Or had she actually heard Hilton say, “I love you, too?” She forced her heavy eyelids to stay open, sat up, and peeked at him. He was so deep in slumber; his snoring was a loud and rumbling vibrato of sound.

Yup, she’d been dreaming, all right. Disappointed, she eased closer to Hilton, running her hand against the expanse of his back, and pressing her cheek against his skin. She threw a leg over his, cozying up even closer, seeking comfort from his body heat.